


The Rose in the High Castle

by CavannaRose



Series: Rose Wilson Fics [31]
Category: DC Elseworlds, Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics), Terror Titans (Comics), The Man in the High Castle (TV)
Genre: AU - The Man in the High Castle, Assassination, Assassins & Hitmen, Contract killing, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Elseworlds, Espionage, F/M, Fighting, Killing, Nazis, Regret, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:54:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23185081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CavannaRose/pseuds/CavannaRose
Summary: What if someone altered the timeline so that the Nazis had won? What role would Rose Wilson have in a world so steeped in hatred and oppression? Would her prodigious willpower and minor precognitive abilities help her see through the veil to the timeline-that-was? What would it take to kickstart her memory?
Relationships: Eddie Bloomberg/Rose Wilson, Tim Drake/Rose Wilson
Series: Rose Wilson Fics [31]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/418006
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Friends in Low Places](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17352176) by [CavannaRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CavannaRose/pseuds/CavannaRose). 



> Was working on a writing project with some friends online, where we took our beloved DC characters and put them in a world much like that of The Man in the High Castle. This was my part of it. The versions of Rose and Tim used are the same as those in my fic Friends in Low Places, so this can be almost considered an Elseworlds take on that.

Like her father before her, Rose Wilson worked alone. She knew that. Knew it was true to the depths of her soul... so why did she keep expecting to see a familiar face in the crowd? Why did her mountain retreat feel so... empty? Turning a corner she'd hear a laugh that seemed more familiar than her own. Was she losing her mind? Was her power glitching somehow? Things were finally getting interesting, she couldn't afford this type of distraction. She braced her hands on the sink, taking in her reflection. Silver hair, long and straight. Two bright blue eyes, all of it trapped in a distinctly Asian face. Mixed blood like hers, where did she have to go but the Free States? Calloused fingers ran over her features, as if she could blur them away, resting by her left eye, covering it as a shock of half-remembered pain went through her. She felt the desperation, but... how? Rose could feel the dagger in her hand, but she'd never done anything like that, never would. Shaking her head she splashed some water on her face, driving what could only be dreams from her mind. She had a meeting in an hour, whatever mental breakdown was creeping up on her would have to wait. 

Taking a deep breath she slowly prepared to go out into the world again. Every aspect of her outfit prim and proper. Colours muted. Buttons done up to the soft collar of her plain blouse. Skirt below the knee. Kitten heels in a matte black. She’d donned the outfit a thousand times before, she knew that, but somehow… Somehow it felt wrong. She felt… exposed and overdressed at the same time. She covered part of her face with one hand, frowning into the distance. She was a spy and a saboteur, not some masked vigilante. Why would she need a mask? Still, the strange sensation wouldn’t leave her, and after some digging around she found a hat with a half veil attached to add to the look. Whatever was under her skin today, she would meet it halfway. It wasn’t good to ignore precognition. She took one last look in the mirror before she left. For a moment a different face looked back at hers, same chin, same lips, but half-masked and one-eyed, scars gleaming white above a strange dark costume, and just behind her another figure, dressed in blacks and blues, playing with some strange piece of tech she had never seen.

Blinking away the vision, Rose shook her head, taking a deep breath to push it all away. This was not the time. Later? Later she’d think about the visions and what they meant, along with this steadily increasing belief that something about the world was _off._ Usually she enjoyed driving, the feel of the wheel beneath her palms giving her a sense of control in a world where she had less and less every day. Not today though. Today she fought the strange desire for something sleek and powerful between her legs, for the purr of an engine far more powerful, for sharp turns and other impossibilities. _Come on, Rose. This is no time to turn into a dreamer. Remember the mission._

Arriving at the meeting point, she scanned the room, looking for her contact. When her eyes settled on him, the usual elation was replaced by a strange, gut-deep, roiling hatred. It was so sharp it made her gasp, grasping at her chest and stepping back to get her bearings. It took a few long minutes to unclench her fists, trying to sort through the unfamiliar wave of emotions, the strange sense of betrayal, rejection, and fury trying to choke her. Normally she was so cool, but she had always been glad to see her father before. What was different this time? She probed her precognition, trying to determine if all the anger came from something there, but it seemed silent. Maybe there was something wrong with her, but should she tell him? That new, strange voice inside her clamored in fear, shouting it’s distrust. Shaken, she managed to pull herself together, crossing the room to meet the man who had taught her everything of value in life.

The crow’s feet in the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled a greeting, holding out his arms for an embrace. For the first time in her memory, Rose hesitated, searching his face for… something. Anything. A clue as to what was going on with her. The warmth in his expression cooled, replaced by the cold calculation that her gut told her was his true mien. Somehow, though, she had no memory of him ever looking at her like that, and it shook something within her. Yesterday everything made sense. Today? Today the world was drifting, and she didn’t like the course it was taking. Dropping his arms Slade took an envelope from within his vest and handed it to Rose, watching her carefully as she tucked it inside her jacket. 

When he spoke, his voice was careful. “Guten Morgen, meine Blume. Is something wrong?” The words were right, but the voice was wrong. Except her inner voice told her no, this was right. This coldness. This was how it was supposed to be. Pushing it all aside, just like he had taught her, she went up on tiptoe, brushing a light kiss across his stubbled cheek. His arms wrapped around her, but there was no comfort there. Not this time. Instead she felt like a mouse caught in a trap, desperate to escape. Rose struggled to control her breathing. This was her father, the man who defied the world to protect her and keep her. The man who taught her all she knew so that she could be useful.

“No, Vater.” She murmured, letting her own arms squeeze around his middle. “I simply saw something disturbing this morning and did not realize how much it had disturbed me. Come. We shall have breakfast and you can tell me about Adeline and the boys.” The meal was tense, and Slade wouldn’t stop giving her that long, assessing look, but they played the roles they were expected to, and she gave him no place to find fault with her performance. Conversation moved from family talk to briefly discuss the disappearance of Reichsführer Savage. Her father’s opinion on that matter was obvious by the curl of disdain his lips made. There was unrest in the Reich. Firestorm had been seen, skirmishing along the border with Captain Atom as well as Rising Son. There had been some tense moments between Atom and Son regarding the outcomes of those skirmishes, and the fear was that a major altercation was coming between the three, and what that would mean for the world at large.

Before they parted company he grasped her shoulders, meeting her gaze squarely. “There are two tasks in that envelope. Do not open the second until the first is complete. It will require all your concentration.” He embraced her again, the strength of it nearly knocking the wind from her lungs. “Whatever you see, you will do this, Tochter. I will not tolerate failure.” Rose stumbled back from her father, breath fast and anxious, staring up at him with confusion and not a little fear. His gaze cut sharper than any blade. “Not yet, but soon I imagine. Do not fail me.” She watched him stalk from the meeting place, wrapping her arms around herself as she shuddered for a moment. 

The drive back to her retreat felt longer than ever, the weight of that envelope astronomical as it sat on the seat beside her, taunting her with its nearness. The missions she had been receiving had been getting steadily more dangerous. More important. Finally she was back in her home, where she was safe. The anti-detection measures taken were bordering on paranoid, but they lived in a paranoid world, even here within the supposed Neutral Zone. Cutting open the envelope with a dagger she pulled out a large packet, and then a smaller envelope. Setting that aside she went through the documents, reading them carefully one by one. 

Halfway through the second page she caught her breath. This was it. They were actually making real strikes against the Japanese. The first steps towards what could only be an all out war. Here on these pages, she was being called to action. To be part of it. She flipped to the next page to see a picture of a pleasant faced man, younger than her father, with short brown hair and an intense air of focus around him. Theodore Kord. Her vision blurred for a moment, images flashing through her mind. A blue suit. A small flying craft shaped like a bug. A laughing face. Blue eyes sparkling as technical words she didn’t understand came spilling from smiling lips. 

Rose dropped the documents and scuttled backwards across her floor, gasping for breath and staring at the papers like they were poisoned. She shook her head, trying to banish the strange visions and the strange sense of longing in her chest. Something was there, something she was missing. Overwhelmed, she gave into the urge and curled into a ball, letting out the tears she had been fighting since early that morning. Something was deeply wrong with her. It didn’t matter though. Even with her abilities on the fritz she would have to complete the mission. If her father ever became disappointed in her… Just the thought shook her as she sobbed. 

Hours passed and eventually she pulled herself back together, reading over the rest of the packet with a stiff glass of whiskey to steady her nerves. Kord was developing weapons for the Japanese, and the rumours were that he had some kind of time travel technology. Her tasks were simple. Kill Theodore Kord so that the Japanese were deprived of their innovative genius, and steal whatever tech or blueprints she could get her hands on. In and out. Silent and deadly. She could do that. Infiltration and extraction was her specialty, after all. This is what she had been trained for. She glanced at the second envelope, but set it aside. That was for later. One task at a time, just as her father had taught her. 

Stalking across to her room, she perused the wardrobe, considering the options for this particular job. Full espionage or hidden in plain sight? Flipping through the clothes, she finally settled on something, slipping into the uniform with the ease of practice. More difficult was pinning her hair down so that the wig sat right, transforming her appearance from something exotic into a face that you might walk by a thousand of in the Japanese territories. She used makeup to refine the features she had inherited from her mother into a more delicate, more Japanese face. A pair of colour contacts, and weren’t those a neat bit of forbidden frippery? - completed the disguise. She had forged documents as part of the packet, but she still needed a reason to be coming from the Neutral Zone. 

With a sigh she went to her cellar and pulled out a half dozen bottles of pre-war Irish whiskey. Her private stash, stolen from some German jagoff in her early training missions. Despite the qualities touted in war, it always seemed like the upper brass indulged themselves with whatever they wanted. She glared at the bottles, as if they had volunteered themselves, then added a seventh bottle to bribe the border patrol. If things went well, most of these would be returning to her cellar, though that was little comfort. She paused once more to examine her face in the mirror. She looked young and male, and eager to serve. Rose bent and stretched, checking from all angles that her binding would remain unseen until she was satisfied. 

_Stop delaying, Rose. It’s time to go._ Jaw squared, she tucked the second envelope into an interior pocket of her jacket and headed out, stowing the forbidden goods in the secret compartment within the boot of the car. There was no way it would make it past an inspection point, but it wasn’t supposed to. Sometimes the best way to remain unseen was to be seen in the smallest ways. A low ranking errand boy fetching contraband would barely raise an eyebrow, and that was what would matter. 

The exchange at the border actually took longer than expected. Tension was high, with rumours that Firestorm had been seen in the area. Rose shuddered just thinking about the metahuman’s phenomenal power. Compared to someone like him, her little taste of precognition was so much buzzing of a gnat beside an elephant. In the end it took two bottles of the whiskey to bribe the guards, and she winced at the hit. At least she managed to maintain a certain level of obsequiousness. It was harder than expected, that ball of rage she had been fighting since the morning curling and twisting inside her. Absently Rose chewed her lip, examining the unfamiliar face in the mirror, trying to see one more time that strange vision.

Like a flash she was inside it, the mirror showing a face like hers, but different. The brutal scars. The rage in that one bottomless blue eye that burrowed into her own. A single eye that spoke of abuse and neglect. Abandonment. Despite all that, deep inside it, wrapped in a thick coat of despair, she could feel… hope? How could that broken image still have hope? She forced her eyes closed, willing the vision away, but it wouldn’t go. Instead she flipped the mirror up, deciding to ignore whatever it was. Something was coming. Something big. Rose didn’t have time for puzzles and riddles though. She had to infiltrate one of the most secure locations in all of the former United States… Her brows furrowed. Why on earth would she think of that old name for this place? She felt something inside her shift, and a short curse word dropped from her lips. This was no time for big changes.

As she passed through the security gates, the bottles carefully stashed in a battered briefcase, Rose felt her tension mounting. The carbon fibre dagger at her ankle, a gift from her father, seemed to weigh more with each step. Still, she cleared each checkpoint with ease, the documents from her packet passing the cursory inspections of the security. Of course, the clearance would only get her so far. When she reached the end of the fake documents reach, she slipped into a supply closet and changed quickly, replacing the suit with a smart skirt and blouse, the heavy jacket with a fitted blazer, and the short wig with something longer. Disguise two had no clearance of her own, but with a pair of sensible heels and a serving cart she was going to do her best to get into places number one couldn’t. She shoved the original costume into the briefcase, pulling out a bottle of the whiskey and placing it on the nearest cart and then hiding it behind some shelving. Once she added a few glasses she was good.

The young woman with the shy smile and the downcast eyes would hardly be mistaken for the bumbling junior clerk, and no one was looking too closely at her face once they noticed that the top button of the blouse was dangerously close to coming undone. Running through the memorized layout of the building, she made her way in the direction of Kord’s lab. Twice she stopped at security checkpoints, her soft and respectful responses allowing her access beyond where she had any right to be. A couple envious glances followed, whether they were about her or the whiskey, well she had her guesses. Irish whiskey was hard to come by these days. 

One more set of guards and she’d be in the section that Kord’s lab was, but these gentlemen were harsher than the last. The one man reprimanded her for her sloppy presentation, noting the partly undone button but not being tempted. Rose dug deep within herself and found that despair that the other her seemed to carry around, and allowed a few tears to trickle down her cheek as she righted herself. The frightening man lectured her on proper respect, threatened her job, her family, and she had to bow her head, shoulders shaking, and take it. If she had met his eyes, though, he would see that the shaking was not fear or tears, it was hot anger. An anger unlike any she could remember feeling. Part of her wanted to unsheathe her blade, now carefully tucked into her waistband. Rose could almost feel the way his skin would part, picture the moves it would take to disable him and his companion. She was fast. Fast enough to take care of them both before they raised the alarm? Maybe.

It flashed through her mind. Knife to the throat of the bored looking second guy first, the lecturing jackass would take a few seconds to process what was happening while his partner choked to death on his own blood. Half turn, flip the blade and drive it into the back of his knee, he goes down and her free hand hits him in the windpipe, silencing him, then the blade goes in his eye, finishing the job. It went so smoothly that Rose didn’t realize she had been moving until her skin registered that the feel of hot blood on her hands was real. No time to be shocked, she was trained to do this after all. In a near haze she dragged the bodies into a utility closet, fishing out the passcard from the blowhard’s pocket, wiping her hands clean on the shirt of his partner. She paused in the doorway, cleaning the knife on a rag and tucking it back under her waistband. She was good, but not that good. Was she? 

She had just lost at least half an hour from her imagined timetable. Someone would notice these two weren’t at their posts. Sooner as opposed to later. Neatening her wig, Rose winced and wiped blood off her face with the rag, sacrificing all that effort she had put into contouring. It was fine, though. Kord was a white guy, the chances of him knowing the difference between Japanese and Cambodian were slim. Her father’s blood ensured she was pale enough to pass a basic once-over. Spine straight, she wheeled her little cart down the hall and towards the lab, a strange calm taking over. It was different from the battle, more serene. Her body knew that what was about to happen was right. She might not believe in the Reich’s mission, but she didn’t want these assholes to have that kind of technology either. Maybe… maybe she could take it herself. Destroy it, or hide it. First though, first she had to take out Kord.

The lab looked like something out of an H.G. Wells novel, which she supposed made sense given what he was supposedly inventing within its confines. She paused for a moment just inside the door to take it all in, her well-trained eyes noting the position of Kord himself, huddled over some massive machine in the corner, and a figure she hadn’t anticipated seeing. Approaching her with an awkward smile was a black-haired young man, his blue eyes as familiar to her as a dream. How was the laughing boy from her vision here, in Kord’s laboratory? As she stared, he slowed his approach, brows furrowing in concern. Rose shook her head, trying to shake herself back into action. She couldn’t let his presence shake her. She bowed slightly, gesturing to the cart and avoiding meeting his curious gaze. “I brought a gift for Mister Kord. A libation to relax him in this vital period of his process.”

She didn’t want to kill this young man, no older than she was, but showing clear signs of an easier life. If he was here he had to be incredibly smart, but she didn’t have the equipment to take prisoners, and she couldn’t leave witnesses. Rose’s fingers flexed as she was rocked by another wave of visions. A tower. A group of laughing faces. A flash of red and black. This face, below her on a pillow, his expression stern as she laughed. Suddenly she _knew_ him. Not from any information packet, but in her heart. Contradictory worlds came crashing down inside her head, but outwardly she stayed standing, eyes fixed on the floor as everything she knew to be true dissolved inside her head. Timothy Jackson Drake. Former Teen Titan. Like her. They had been Titans together. They had been teens together, in a different world. A world without the oppressive regimes they were both working for. 

This was what she was looking for. If there was a resistance out there, Tim Drake could find it. He was the smartest man she’d ever known, and the most compassionate. Surely he didn’t know what kind of monsters he was working for here. He could be so damn naïve. Rose gripped the side of the tray with a grip that in another life would have bent the metal, not here though. Here there had been no serum. No craziness. Just the slow awakening of her precognitive ability. Her eyes narrowed, thinking back to how Slade had behaved that morning. How much did her father know, really? That was another stop to make on the quickly growing list. 

She lowered her voice, pitching it so that it wouldn’t carry to Kord across the room where he was swearing at a printout. Her fingers twitched, longing for the comfort of holding her blade. “Timothy Drake, if you are the man I think you are, you have been egregiously misled.”

He paused, “I’ve been… what? Who are you?”

“Lower your voice,” Rose hissed, moving closer to him. She could hear his heart beat increase, see the way his own fingers twitched, as if seeking a weapon of his own. “This… this isn’t right. Another war is coming, worse than the last. Something needs to be done to fix it. I think you could be the key.” With a quick brush of her hands over her face, a move she had practiced far longer than she would ever want to admit, she removed her contacts, looking at him square in the face with her own bright blue eyes. “You were supposed to be more than this, Drake.”

The plan was gone, she was acting on instinct now, instincts that she barely recognized as her own. Her, the her from here anyway, was screaming that she was a fool, warning her to be cautious, but this other Rose? This other Rose was all anger and instinct, and the deep seated knowledge that she could trust Tim Drake to do the right thing, whatever that might be. She could see the questions battling behind his eyes as he thought, he was always a thinker, trying to decide exactly the right thing to ask. “Something happened, the timeline went all wrong. There was another timeline, a different past. The Nazis lost that war. Everything was different. Capitalism. Freedom. McDonalds. We were on a team, a team of superheroes that helped protect the people, all the people. America got rid of segregation… eventually. That’s how it should be, not this. You have to know that.”

That was, unfortunately, when Kord realized there was a disturbance in his lab. “What’s going on? Drake? Who is this that you’ve let in?” Kord sounded less angry than he did affronted, like it insulted his dignity that anyone had been allowed into his sanctum without direct clearance from him. That instinctual Rose welled up again, and before she knew it she was in motion, whiskey bottle in her hand, then in the air. She watched as it crashed against Kord’s temple, smashing on impact, alcohol and glass flying everywhere as he sank to his knees, dazed. She was across the room, blade out of its hiding place and against his throat. It was almost perfect, except for Drake across the room, some experimental something or other in his hand, pointed at her head. His hold was steady, unwavering. Whoever he was here, he wasn’t afraid. That was good.

“Listen miss, I don’t want to hurt you-”

Rose laughed, the sound harsh but familiar, and she could see by the way his brows furrowed that it was striking a chord in his memory too. “Drake you might be one of the only people in this building who could hurt me, but not before I kill Kord. Look inside yourself, Tim. This isn’t right. We should be fighting on the same side, maybe not together, but against whatever this is.” She could see it now, how the new history was woven together, how it had drawn her in and made her ignore the warnings of her own gift. “The Tim Drake I knew would take those super secret blueprints, find the resistance, and find a way to put the timeline back together. Don’t you feel how wrong this is?”

She wasn’t a woman of words, and making impassioned speeches didn’t come naturally to her, though she could remember a few times when Tim Drake had driven her to it before. There was just something about him. She could see the way he struggled, fought against converging realities as hard as she had. She even noted the moment he decided to deal with that later and tackle the hard fact that his mentor was at her feet, a trail of crimson across his neck where her blade met his flesh. She could feel the malevolent hatred he was targeting her with, but Rose didn’t care. Tim was the focus here.

“Miss, you’re clearly disturbed. If you put the blade down we can call for the proper authorities and get you back to the care of your family.” Stubborn ass. The other Tim Drake, the one in her visions, the one from the other timeline, he had seen her kill before. But not a man who was his mentor. Not like this. Killing in cold blood was different than killing in combat, but both versions of Rose were comfortable with either. Neither wanted to murder Kord in front of Drake though. It didn’t matter what Rose wanted, not today. What mattered was what was best for the world. She almost laughed again. The old Titans wouldn’t believe she had an altruistic bone in her body, not even the ones she called friend.

“I’m sorry, Drake. I know that this will be hard for you, but it needs to happen, and somehow I need you to trust me once it does.” Kord moved, and a shock went through Rose, forcing her to release him and stumble backwards, her blade flinging across the floor. Drake fired, and Rose was in motion, her precognition lighting up like a Christmas tree, sending her across the room in a series of leaps and rolls that she couldn’t follow except on an instinctual level. To Kord it must look like she moved faster than thought, though the old Drake knew it was just that she saw everything before it came, and was acting before it happened. On her final roll she scooped up her blade once more and spun, sending it flying across the room where it seemed to appear from Kord’s thigh. His eyes bulged out, and she smiled. Bullseye. Right in the femoral artery. Now all she had to do was retrieve her dagger and he would bleed out.

Tim got another shot off, grazing her shoulder and Rose felt her arm go dead. Her eyes widened, a thousand foul words trotting across her brain. Whatever. Other Rose managed to fight with one eye, she would make do with one arm. She turned to Drake, plowing into him with her dead shoulder and knocking him flying. Pure brute force, no grace in that motion, but as she shoved off of him, she grasped his hair and slammed his head into the ground, knocking him unconscious. Hopefully that would jog his memory, if he was going to do what she hoped he was, he was going to have to remember some of those Robin skills his other self had.

The alarm blared and Rose swore. She thought Kord would look to seal his wound first, and that had been her mistake. He laughed at her as she rounded a pile of equipment to face him. “Whatever plan you have, it’s over now. You’ve lost.”

Rose ripped the wig from her head, not needing the disguise anymore, and smiled at the scientist. Even his counterpart had been lacking on the physical skills side. Here he had little in the way of completed tech that could assist him. “Not yet I haven’t, asshole. As long as I kill you, I consider today a success.” Surprise crossed his face for a split second as she dove at him, not to take him down, but just past his leg. As she rolled by, she grabbed for her dagger, yanking it through flesh and free with a wet tearing sound. Kord howled in pain and rage, dropping to the floor and aiming another of those strange electrically charged guns at her. Still in motion, Rose took the full force of the blast, twitching as the shock ran through her. As soon as he was able to move, she raced across the lab, shoving at a heavy looking piece of equipment so that it fell across the door, blocking the entrance. That done she drove her dagger into the electronic locking panel, grunting in satisfaction as it sparked and died. 

She couldn’t stop there. Back to Kord, who was desperately trying to put pressure on his wound to prevent a bleedout. She pinned his hands to the floor with a foot, glaring down at him. “We’re going to undo it all, and we’re going to use your tech to do it.” She watched impassively as his artery gushed it’s contents out onto the pristine lab floor, the crimson puddle growing tacky under her sensible heel. There was battering at the lab doors now, and she knew she was running out of time. Rose moved to the computer, keying up the commands from her information docket. Whomever had given it to her father had been smart, maybe smarter than Kord. It reminded the other version of her of the Calculator’s work. That wasn’t possible, though. There was no Calculator in this timeline. Virus inserted into the system, blueprints shoved down her blouse, she grabbed the strange device that matched the schematics and headed for the window. There she paused, remembering Drake. 

Swearing under her breath, Rose went back to the unconscious man, slapping him awake. As he sputtered into consciousness, she dragged him towards the window. “I really hope you have strong ankles, Drake, because this is about to suck.” Still groggy and confused, he watched as she broke the glass of the window and hopped up on the ledge. Rose offered him a half smile and a hand. “If you stay here, they’ll blame you for what happened. I know you don’t trust me, but don’t you want to save the world?”

His eyes met hers, and she felt relief well up within her. Just the faintest hint of recognition touched his expression. When his hand slid into hers, Rose felt a thousand tiny voices shouting “yes!” in a way that she couldn’t afford to dwell on. Hand in hand they threw themselves from the window. Two bodies in motion, releasing their grasp on one another midway in order to land as safely as possible. Bruised and winded, the pair dragged themselves to their feet, and Rose gestured for Drake to follow her before racing for the nearest vehicle. Two armed guards on motorbikes shot at them, and Rose ducked, pulling rocks from the ornamental garden until she found a couple with the right weight. 

Rose gave Drake a lunatic smile. “Looks like I brought stones to a gunfight.” With a laugh she took careful aim, lobbing one of the rocks at the nearest mounted gunman. She cheered as he toppled over, before tossing the second, and missing. He swung around wide, turning to make another pass at them. Tugging on Drake’s hand again, Rose raced to the downed man, stomping hard on his throat as he scrambled to get out from under his running bike. She tossed Tim the man’s gun and righted the vehicle, mounting it like she was born there. “Come on. You ride bitch and keep them off us.” There wasn’t much time for talk after that. Rose used all her trained reflexes and her adrenaline fueled precognition to weave between pursuers, bullets blazing hot trails around them. She took two in a leg and another in the arm, but she didn’t dare stop.

An hour before the pursuit dropped off. Another two hours before Rose got them deep into woods that in another timeline were a national park. Sometime during the battle Tim had gone limp behind her, and she’d feared he was dead. A she dismounted though, he was all loosey-goosey, not stiff. She eased him onto the ground, checking his pulse. “Lucky bastard.” With no one there to see, she smiled softly at him, stripping him down to check him for injuries, wrapping what she could, and then redressing him. She didn’t even peek that much, like a real gentleman. She tucked the blueprints into his jacket, and placed the device in his hand, then half-buried him with foliage. She couldn’t stay with him, but she could keep the search off of him. Bending over his body, she brushed the hair from his face. He looked so peaceful when he was unconscious.

“I hope you remember who you were, Tim Drake, and I hope you get this to someone who can help.” Leaning forward, she brushed a chaste kiss against his lips, her voice lowering to a whisper. “No one will ever know, but I think I love you, I think _she_ loves you. She’ll never tell you, though.”

Feeling somehow both unsettled and satisfied, Rose remounted the bike and headed back out in the direction they had last seen their pursuers, the gun tucked into her belt, white hair cascading behind her. She’d lead them away, and trust that Drake, when he awoke, would do the right thing.


	2. Chapter 2

Three days. That was how long she avoided pursuit before it died down enough to catch her breath. They were still out there, still searching for her, but Rose was confident that those still actively on her tail could be avoided. The best and brightest knew that if you didn't track down your quarry in the first 48 hours the chances decreased exponentially of you ever accomplishing your goal. Anyone less than the best? Well she was Rose Fucking Wilson. No... She was Rose Worth. Two sets of memories layered on top of one another like double exposed film. Wading through what was real now, and what was real then wasn't the easiest, but she was getting better at it. Each passing hour she found herself sliding into the shoes of the Rose that Was. She was tougher, harder somehow. That surprised her the most. Had growing up under a Nazi regime actually made her softer than the other version of herself? What a terrifying thought.  
  
The other Rose had skills far past what she had, though, but with her precognition the muscle memory was starting to sink in. Made her faster, smarter. A toothy grin spread across her face. These jackasses had only had Rose Lite so far, but she was about to show them a whole new world of Trouble. Pushing her hair back from her face, she idly ran a finger across her left eye, almost feeling the blade plunging through it. She had an edge of her own. Two working eyes. That could really help her here. Give her a leg up that the Rose that Was had sacrificed. With a huff at the self-indulgent behaviour, she pulled her hood back up and moved to the payphone, dialing a number off a small slip of paper. Four rings and then the slight click of a receiver being lifted. "Target eliminated. The weapon is neutralized but not currently in my possession."  
  
A long silence, heavy with a swirl of emotions that neither end of the conversation would ever actually admit to. "We got the news about Kord. What happened to the other?"  
  
Here was the tough part. Lying to Slade Wilson was always tricky business. He could read the pattern of breath, the faintest thread of emotion. Even the lack of emotion would tell him something of the truth. She had been trained by him though. Twice if you counted the two sets of memories she was currently struggling with. Best to keep it succinct. "Unexpected complication. Do I pursue?"  
  
Another long silence. It would have been easier if he made a sound, if she could hear his breath or something, but there was nothing. Finally his voice came back over the line, a strange note in it that she couldn't quite process. "Negative. We will scramble on our end. Move on to the second target." A click and a dial tone, never much one for saying goodbye, dear old dad. Rose let out the breath she had been holding, closing her eyes and leaning against the cold glass of the phone booth. A vision danced through her head, another young man with unruly black hair, his face sterner than Tim's. Something about jumping into a phone booth and coming out with a red cape? The faintest hint of a smile crossed her lips. Conner. Another friend from a different life, one she hadn't appreciated at the time. It seemed that no matter the life she led, Rose Wilson would always end up alone.  
  
Pushing herself back up to a standing position, she sauntered towards the edge of the parking lot where she had left the stolen motorcycle. From inside her jacket she pulled out the second envelope, tearing it open unceremoniously to reveal the documents inside.  
  
No.  
  
It couldn't...  
  
Not him.  
  
Her heart caught in her throat, emotions threatening to drown her as they clamored for acknowledgement. Regret. Fear. Love. Anticipation. Longing. Wildly she shuffled through the papers until she found a grainy photograph, shaking fingers tracing the angular jaw, curling along the short black horns. "Eddie." The name was like a prayer on her tongue, whispered and disbelieving. Here, in this time line... he was alive? Her whole body shook with emotion, overwhelming her as she clutched desperately at the glossy image of a face she hadn't really expected to see again. He was alive! She could go to him and...  
  
And she had just given Tim Drake the power to erase him from existence again.  
  
It was Eddie or the whole world, she knew that. Her Eddie would never want her to make a choice so selfish, but she still considered, for just a moment, grabbing her blades and hunting Drake down again. It felt like her heart was ripping in two. Worse than choosing between Eddie and a world that was free, it felt like she was making a choice between Eddie and Drake. In that other world, that Rose that Was, the Rose that had lost Eddie... she had found something special with Drake. Something real, no matter how much she denied it. Something she probably never would have pursued if Eddie hadn't died. Her feelings for the red skinned boy were all twisted up in regret for things left unsaid and guilt for walking away. Rose struggled to get herself back under some semblance of control. Shoving the picture and other documents into her pocket she stalked towards the gas station rest room.  
  
Ten minutes later, her face cold and damp, tendrils of hair sticking to her cheeks from where she had splashed water on herself, she re-emerged. She couldn't save Eddie. It wouldn't be right. He wouldn't want it that way. But maybe, maybe while she was here she could find him and finally get some closure. Maybe then, once the world was back the way it was supposed to be, she could finally settle whatever it was that was between her and Drake. There were no guarantees, emotions were volatile and so was she, but the very least Rose could do was try. Helmet on, she roared out of the parking lot, quietly telling herself the twisting sensation in her guts was anticipation.


	3. Chapter 3

Finding him was harder than she thought it would be. How does a tall, red-skinned man with horns become invisible in a world where every difference was considered grounds for prosecution? Her Eddie wouldn't have been able to pull it off, and that was enough to remind Rose that this wasn't the same Eddie she knew back in the other timeline. Still, the first time she caught sight of him her breath caught in her throat. He was older than the figure from her half-remembered past, but then again she was older too. Her Eddie had never lived to reach this age. He still kept his hair long, lounging on the hood of a beat up old Harley, leather vest open to reveal an impressive set of abs. He was surrounded by a ragged bunch of men, all done up in leathers and patches.

From her vantage point, Rose looked her fill, taking in the sight of the grown-up version of the boy she had known. The boy who had let her be who she was, and still expected better from her. There had been something between them, deeply running emotions that were never once acknowledged, because she refused to acknowledge them and he had respected that, allowed her that distance. Few moment in her life had hurt as much as the day on the roof when he refused to leave with her. He was so good, so pure, and he had put the world before whatever it was between them. At the time she had almost hated him for it, maybe she would have eventually if it hadn't gotten him killed. Now? Now as she looked at the man who could have been, Rose felt that old indecision rising up within her. Was she being selfish, being out here? She remembered the Past that Was, she had a unique and useful set of skills. She could be out there, helping the Resistance. Fighting. Causing a distraction while they figured out how to go back and fix the past. Instead she was out here stalking the alternate universe adult version of her childhood not-boyfriend. Pathetic. She half expected the stern voice of the Rose that Was to pipe up and set her back on course, but that Rose was strangely silent, lost in the longings of a youth not forgotten.

Just then a shockwave rippled out across the land, knocking Rose from the tree where she was watching from. Car alarms blared all around Eddie and his biker gang friends as their wheels hit the ground, sending some of them sprawling. Not him though, he somehow managed to hold steady, surveying the area around him with squinted eyes and a suspiciously furrowed brow. Flat on her back on the pavement, Rose struggled to catch the breath that had been knocked out of her, eyes searching the sky through the canopy of trees desperately. What had that been? Some kind of bomb? Was her father safe? Was Tim? The desperate jumble of questions stuttered to a sudden stop as her vision was filled with the glaring red face of Edward Bloomberg. A calloused hand wrapped around her upper arm, dragging her roughly to her feet. No recognition on his face as he bared his pointed teeth at her. "Who the fuck are you?"

Behind him the bikers were righting their vehicles, and one of them approached, a gun in his hand. "Yo Red Devil, whatcha got there?"

"Caught a little bird minding business that wasn't hers." The harsh growl of his voice was jarring, off-putting. There was none of the gentleness of the Eddie in her memories, and Rose realized that maybe... maybe she had made a mistake coming here. So many changes in the timeline, some people were just different. She had been different, at least until the memories came. Maybe she had been softer, but that clearly wasn't the case here. She wished she had the enhancements of the Rose that Was, but at least she had the skills. Turning and twisting she jerked her arm out of his grip, dodging his fumbling attempt to reacquire her and standing just outside of arm's reach, her own face a matching glare for his.

"I may be short, Edward Bloomberg, but we're basically the same age so you can stow the fucking attitude." His face showed shock, surprise, suspicion, and then just anger as he dove for her again. Rose sidestepped, kicking out to catch the back of his knee as he lunged, dropping him to the ground. His man raised the gun to aim at her, but she held up her hand in a placating gesture, pulling the dossier from her own vest and letting the papers and photographs scatter on the ground around the man who resembled the boy from her memories less and less and the minutes ticked by. Be careful what you wish for indeed. This man would never be the Eddie that lived in her memories, and she'd been a fool to come here. She wouldn't do the job she was given though. If Drake was half the hero that she thought he was this reality wouldn't be around long enough for them to find out the repercussions of that series of blasts that had shook her from her hiding spot. "Someone wants you dead, Mister Bloomberg. Someone with money and power. Either you managed to get your hands on something you should have, or you hold the key to something they very much want. Either way, I don't much care."

Once Drake had accomplished his goals, Edward Bloomberg would go back to being dead, and Rose would go back to being the harsh, super-powered mercenary that she had become in that other timeline. She could feel the Rose that Was taking over more and more as time passed. This universe's Rose, assassin though she may be, was simply too soft. Turning, she started to walk away from whatever half-formed dreams she had begun piling on the shoulders of Eddie Bloomberg. She was so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she ignored the tug of her precognitive ability. There was a sharp retort and a burning pain. Rose looked down, shocked to see the red blossoming in the centre of her chest. It felt like the world was slowing down as she turned, blue eyes wide as they saw this Red Devil glaring at her, a gun steady in his own hand. 

... He shot her?

The edges of her vision went blurry as she hit the ground for the second time in less than ten minutes, and then the world went black.


End file.
